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Sour Patched Kid
Poems
May 2016
Untitled
It is early in the morning.
The sun is turning the curtains that ugly, ***** hue.
I have not slept well in weeks.
My *** drive is dwindling.
*** walk.
I am beginning to wonder if anyone ever loved me,
running my tongue over a mouth sore.
I must be tired.
Written by
Sour Patched Kid
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